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established 1901 

Delaware Valley College 

Doylestown, Pennsylvania 


John Heberle 
Stephanie Ruth Smith 

Publication Advisor 

Dr. Alice Clark 

Computer Technicians 

Michelle Foraker 

Mrs. Janet PQaessig 

Mrs. Joyce Kunkle 

Elizabeth Ann Leiter 

Rebecca Walter 

Literarx^, art, and photograph}^ from 1898 to 1995 were selected from 
Joseph Krauskopf Memorial Librar\; Archives. 

1996-1997 Literary 

Jeff Crooke 

John Heberle 

Brian Kelly 

Dwane Darienzo 

Elizabeth Ann Leiter 

Erin Goldschmidt 

Stephanie Ruth Smith 

Peter Snyder 

Rebecca Walter 

Marie Zmijewski 

Dorothy Poole 

Dr. Richard Ziemer 

1 996-1 997 Photography 

Rebecca Walter 

Tara Miliziano 

Dr. Alice Clark 

Carrie White 

Cover Art 

Rebecca Walter 

1 996-1 997 PaintingsllllustrationslGraphics 

Brian Kelly 

Stephanie Ruth Smith 

PTGraphics, Inc. 

Special thanks to Barry Denlinger and PTGraphics, Inc. for their time and generosity. 
Special thanks to Mrs. Seargeant, director of Delaware Valley College Archives. 

//./^r-^, frh , z' 

Valuable Monthly Publication Issued by Students of the National Farm School. 

he first number of "The Gleaner," a publication to be issued monthly by the students of 
the National Farm School, near Doylestown, has been sent to its subscribers. Everybody is familiar 
with the character of the National Farm School and the purpose for which it was founded. It is an 
institution that is to solve social and industrial problems of grave moment. It is regarded with deep 
interest by philanthropists in Europe and America. It is an experiment of equal interest to the 
Agricultural Department of this Government. It is an honor and credit to Bucks County that it has 
been established here. Therefore, it would seem to be the duty of the public to aid and encourage 
the young men to make their paper a success financially. In doing this the public will be the gainer, 
for the paper, which costs but 50 cents per year, will prove entertaining and instructive. Farmers, 
especially, will find it a valuable adjunct to such investigation as pertains of their calling. The 
students of the Farm School work under a corps of trained instructors, men who possess a practical 
and scientific knowledge of agriculture. The paper has a department devoted to this science. The 
students are constantly making interesting experiments in addition to pursuing a curriculum which, 
in iteelf, affords abundant opportunity for interesting articles. It is hoped this department will be 
made a prominent feature of the paper. The first number also contains historical and biographical 
information in addition to well written editorials and personal and social paragraphs of interest. 

The students in charge of the paper are Solomon Pizer, editor-in-chief; M. Lebowitz, 
assistant editor; Harry Weinburg, business manager; Charles S. Heller, agricultural department; 
Maurice Mitzman, personal and local column; Israel Tennenbaum, athletics; William Serlin, 
exchange editor. 

1 February 1901 


Were I to claim supernatural power arid propose to conjure into 
existence the long-dreamed-of age of universal peace and eternal 
good will, llou would call me dreamer and enthusiast. Yet the 
power you would den\; in me, I believe [to be] in ijou. Yours, 
combined with the rest of civilized society, is the power to 
inaugurate the Messianic Age b\; the simple exercise of self-control. 
One i;ear of universal self-control and the Millennium is at hand. 
One Dear of universal self-control and the Kingdom of God is 
established on earth. 

3 February 1897 


The question which, in m\; judgment, this nation is toda\; called 
upon to decide for all the civilized world is: whether the time has 
come for nations to adjust international difficulties with the weapons 
of reason or whether the weapons will still be steel; whether the 
time has come for the love-beating heart to have a voice in the 
council of Nations, or whether it will ^ill be the mailed fist; whether 
the time has come for civilization to advance without the impetus of 
cruel warfare, or whether it must still be helped upward and 
onward b\; sabre, spear, and ball and all the cost of the heart's 

20 March 1898 


I am not one of those who lives in the clouds. I do not depreciate 
the value of the practical and the material... But I protest against 
those standards that debase life to mere money-grubbing. / would 
redeem men from their self-enslavement. I would emancipate them 
from their treadmill existence. I would break their fetters and lead 
them forth to where there is a sk[; overhead, to where the flowers 
grow at their feet, to where the birds sing, and the stars twinkle their 
message from the unseen spheres, and where the mind ma^; hold 
communion with the majesty of God. I would consecrate them to 
noble ideals and make these the goals of their moral and spiritual 
and intellectual endeavor 

All this I would do without interfering with their material 
pursuits. I would merely idealize the real. I would have every man 
add to the real an ideal as an avocation. 

3 April 1904 


No man is ignoble whose heart is noble. No man is poor whose 
mind is rich. No man is unsightly whose soul reveals the beauty of 
holiness. No man is unmannered whose behavior exhibits sincerity, 
kindness, helpfulness. No man is humble whose life is exalted. No 
man is unheroic who daily wrestles with trials and temptation and 
overcomes them. No man is lowly whose aspirations and ideals 
range with the highest 

5 February 1911 

'ho that enjoys country life has not wondered where the busy little bee stores his honey? 
Such was my experience. I was reclining in the shade of a large apple tree one day last someone 
with several companions at my side. The busy bees were noted and someone expressed a desire to 
know the whereabouts of the sweet honey. There and then we decided to find it. This is how we 

Six saucers containing honey were procured and placed in the path of the unsuspecting 
bees. Then we watched. Presently a bee alighted upon one of the saucers. In a short time it flew 
away, doubtless having its fill, and perhaps desiring to inform its companions of the luscious 
treasure it had discovered. One of our companions followed the bee with his eyes and noting the 
place where the bee was seen to disappear, approached it and placed a saucer at the spot. We then 
followed. Presently more bees alighted upon the saucers, and in this wise we tracked them to a 
decayed apple tree. 

About eight feet from the ground, a large hole was seen, where we were certain the honey 
lay hidden. 

Here was a problem. How to remove the honey? "Let us cut down the tree," some one 
suggested. We were good boys, so, obtaining the permission of the owner, with a bribe of one-third 
of the honey obtained, we proceeded to hew away at the old tree; not before we had rid ourselves 
of the more rightful owners, namely, the bees. A bee-smoking lamp was procured, (easier said than 
performed) , and with the aid of a ladder placed in the opening. In a short time the lamp was 
removed and to our joy the bees swarmed out, and away they flew. 

For an hour we hacked away at the old stump. We were getting discouraged. One mighty 
stroke! and out oozed the luscious honey. The awful heat of the sun had quite melted the honey 
and it flowed out like maple syrup. 

What cared we for the few stings that the returning bees were disposed to give us? Giving 
the owner one -third of our robbery, we still had three and one-half pails, averaging forty pounds to 
the pail. Netting us fifteen cents per pound, you can easily figure out our profits. 

R Kyse/a, '05 

^^^?^me^?t/a/w^ o£i^ Q^o^ 

lighteen years ago this hoe was chosen as the emblem of this institution, and has been 
revered by the students as it passed from one class to the next. It has been sharpened and 
repainted since its adoption, partly to preserve and partly to intensify the meaning already 
conveyed. Green in our songs signifies the springtime, while gold the harvest and the sunshine. It 
goes on to say that in the blend the meaning is foretold. Hurrah for the Green and the Gold! you 
all know the song, and you all will or have used the hoe. But the measure of your prosperity will be 
judged by your diligence with this small tool, perhaps not in its direct use, but in directing the 
equivalent energy to useful ends. Therefore, to you. Mr. Levitch as president of the senior class that 
begins its regime tonight with the presentation of this hoe, I leave this as it was left to me and the 
guidance of the students during the ensuing years, with this admonition, use it diligently, and 
success will be yours. 

Clarence Koshowsh; 
Februajy 1917 

C^y^t is the earnest desire of the Department of Legislature of N. E S. that students and faculty 
co-operate in enforcing the following rules and regulations which have been unanimously 
approved at the last meeting: 

1 . Students and faculty shall not write on the walls until they have received their final finishing 
coat of paint. 

2. The faculty shall not carry hot sausages to their rooms as it tends to lower the morale of hound 
life at the school. 

3. Students shall not eat soup with a fork. Soup should be seen and not heard. 

4. No tipping of waitresses will be permitted. (Note: this includes tipping your hat.) 

5. The feeding of pet animals in the reception room is strictly prohibited. Mice and roaches are 
the only pets which will be fed by the domestic department. 

6. The faculty shall not play marbles in the kitchen. The director's apartment is the only place 
where gambling will be tolerated. 

7. Political discussion will not be permitted at table, since everyone realizes that Marcus will be 
our next president. 

8. Finger bowls will be served every Saturday evening, but they are not meant to take a bath in. 

9. Students will please come to supper promptly on Friday evenings so as to avoid the rush for 
the chapel immediately following. 

10. Wives of faculty will kindly refrain from throwing cigarette butts under the table as it sets a bad 
example for the incoming freshmen. 

11. The silverware is the property of the institution and will not be repleated or replated if stolen. 

12. A small donation of fifty cents per meal will be painlessly extracted from faculty or students 
having guests for meals. If the guest is your mother-in-law, however, ask for a rain check or a 
check reign. 

13. No throwing of stewed vegetables allowed. If you simply MUST throw something, ask your 
waiter for a second helping of ice cream. 

14. Toothpicks will be served a la carte (Dory included). Use them freely and thereby avoid late 
blight and mildew. 

15. Seniors shall wait until Freshman are seated before offering them the bottle. Juniors shall not 
flirt with the chickens; they might lay for them. 

16. IMPORTANT! Do not allow numerous visitors of the Board to interfere with the above rules. 
Remember that "Co-operation is the THIEF of time" and that "Team Work" is what ruined the 

Disapproved Nouember 31, 1918 

C^ ^awn ^ ^ C^^ 


When L/.S. entered in this urar 

OldN.F.S. was there, 
Read]; to back the right, 

Ar\d do more than her share. 

We adopted for our motto: 

''Eat less and grow much more. " 
There is no doubt that this line 

Has made the Kaiser sore. 

Our grades ascattered far and near 

Jumped right into step, 
Resolved to do their duh; 

With the good old Farm School "pep. " 

Those who could not get a chance 

To shoot the hated Huns. 
Raised the food to feed 

The men behind the guns. 

Now this is but a small part 
Of the things we've done out here. 

We were prepared for this conflict 
Back many a long i;ear] 

1 rs Every spring we "drilled" our seed 

Also "plowed" through many miles. 
Gen Krafts strategic movements 
"Checked" the vom from growing wild. 

Then we "pitched" into the en'my 
And up our haymows flew 

Not satisfied with all this 

We "threshed" grain thru and thru. 

The next deed was "shocking'' 
But it had to be done, 

So we "husked" right thru it 
And the battle was won. 

All this was done, — not for reward 

But no doubt we will get it, 
For those who work unselfishly, 

Have never to regret it. 

The stirring call of mankind. 

Found recruits to its cause, 
Supplied thru Farm School "Spirit, " 

The kind that has no flaws. 

Now if by chance you read these lines 
And think you've done your share. 

There's still one thing for you to do, 
BUY BONDS, for the boys "Over There. " 

With apologies to Dr. Krauskopf, 
Jos Goldstein, '19 




Joseph toauskoph Memorial Libran- .- 

c^ ^ooi6^ 

If the days are cold and cheerless 

And times are bad and beerless, 

Don't worry! Times are not so bad 

For football seasons now in fad. 

If your lessons are long and tough 

And you have no interest in the stuff, 

Think of yesterday s sweet scrimmage batter 

And your darn old cares will never matter 

If you just got ''H" from Otsy 

And your marks are getting frosty, 

Try to improve yourself of course 

But on the field "kick-off" remorse. 

If you think that life is one dead dream 

And everything around you lifeless may seem. 

Go to the game and cheer the boys 

Your life will be filled with wholesome joys. 

H.T '21 


Joseph Krauskoph Memorial Library Archives 

Do i^ou carrot all for me? 

Mx; heart beets for \^ou, 

M\; hue is as soft as a squash, 

Ar}d as strong as an onion, 

You are the apple of mx; eye, 

VJith x^our radish hair 

And \;our turnip nose; 

So if we cantaloupe. 

Then let us marrx;. 

I think we will make a happx; pear. 

EX 1920 



fonx request for a Founder's Day message from me is indicative of the students' high 
esteem, love and appreciation for their benefactor, Dr. Joseph Krauskopf. 

"The good that man does, lives after him." What greater tribute, then, can be offered to this 
educator and philanthropist than to point to the growth of this outstanding Institution he created. 

The students at the School today were young boys when Dr. Krauskopf, at the zenith of his 
spiritual and civic leadership, passed on. Therefore, a sketch of the life and work of the man who 
founded your School, should interest you. 

Dr. Krauskopf rose from an immigrant boy, to become Rabbi of the largest Jewish 
congregation in America, a great teacher, humanitarian and indefatigable worker and organizer. A 
man of vision and constructive doings, he was nationally known and respected. 

Dr. Krauskopf was a daring dreamer, but of more importance - a daring thinker and doer, 
gifted with the art of imparting thoughts succinctly, directly and practically. He seemed to have the 
power to succeed in all of his undertakings. If he had dreams, he had faith in their realizability, and 
worked to attain that end. 

He came to America at the age of fourteen, and secured employment with a merchant in 
Fall River, Mass. His days there were drab and irksome, yet he was ambitious. A good woman of 
that city, not a Jewess, who was deeply impressed with the character, fine mind and personality of 
this lad, and having heard of the proposed founding of the Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati, 
encouraged and assisted young Krauskopf to enter the Rabbinate. This good woman helped a 
struggling young man. Her generous deed has been multiplied over and over again, because he in 
return has helped thousands. He matriculated under the leadership of another great man, Rev. Dr. 
Isaac M. Wise. Shortly after receiving the degree of Bachelor of Arts from the University of 
Cincinnati, he was ordained Rabbi as one of the first class of students to be graduated from the 
Hebrew Union College, from which Institution he later received the degree of Doctor of Divinity. 

He had rare oratorical powers, a gift for expressing his thoughts cogently and with literary 
charm. He was fearless in his denunciation of wrong and oppression, of bigotry and prejudice. His 
life was essentially one of service, not only to his own people, but to the community at large. He 
was a man of decidedly virile personality and versatile ability. He readily attained a high position of 

leadership, not only in the pulpit, but in all civic and communal activities. His effective powers as a 
preacher were matched by his equally great powers as organizer and administrator. Distinguished 
Rabbi, fine type of American Jew, notable and noble citizen, all classes and creeds joined in sincere 
tribute to his many virtues and achievements and delighted to call him friend. His was a powerful 
influence, wielded in behalf of the welfare of his fellow-man. 

A deep love for nature, particularly his appreciation of trees were inherited by him, both 
from his parents and from his early environment. As a child, he spent much of his time with his 
father in their native forest, where the elder Krauskopf was a lumberman. Interested in scholarly 
pursuits, he also loved to work with his hands, and whenever he had a few moments, not occupied 
with his many civic and congregational duties, there was nothing he loved better than to work in 
the beautiful garden at the rear of his home. It was this love for the out-of-doors and his study of 
conditions in the large cities where men were forced to eke out an existence between brick walls, 
that led him to advocate a return to the soil, by giving city boys the opportunity to train for farming 

One of his chief characteristics was his passion for devising and building institutions for 
practical helpfulness. While The National Farm School is probably the most widely known of his 
enterprises, there were many others that originated in his mind, and were helped to success by his 
indomitable energy and perseverance. 

As students of the National Farm School, you are, indeed, fortunate to have as your 
exemplar, this distinguished leader and practical idealist, who achieved greatness through hard and 
unremitting effort. 


Herbert D. Allman 

President of The National Farm School 

June 1933 

Joseph Krauskoph Memonal Library Archivi 




Joseph Krauskoph Memorial Library Archives 


Time goes on! 

As lovers lie, 
Preachers cri), 

Bankers pl^;. 
Gangsters die, 
Wise men sigh. 
Time goes on! 

A. Kahn 
Harvest Dav 1934 

(>t(m£^: QJ^nwmca 

A nation with historic nriight, 

A land so close to freedom 's light 

A place so dear to everyone 

My country — America. 

'.^ By land, by sea, and in the air 

Defending a home to us so fair, 

We fight a war for freedom 's sake 

My country — America. 

Some day the end of war will come 

A peace that's loved hy everyone. 

Will bring the dawn of glorious hope 

My country — America. 

Yes, we have ventured far and near 

Striving to attain freedom from fear 

A land of brotherhood, unlimited strength 

My country — America. 

A place where white and black will live 

In harmonious peace, with love to give. 

Some day all will realize this 

My country - America. 

At present many things are wrongs 

We hope and pray 'tis not for long 

For soon the world will follow suit 

My country - America. 

Christian, Protestant, Negro, Jew, 

Raise your voices in tribute to 

A nation of potential bliss 

My country — America. 

Daniel Tannenbaum 



Q^n ^s^^oAX^ of '^yba£^^^ 

Dst people upon first learning that a person is a vegetarian immediately commence to look 
for signs of malnutrition and deterioration. However, approaching the philosophy of vegetarianism 
from an ethical view point, as most vegetarians do, we feel and know by experience that abundant 

health, energy and proper nutrition can be - 

maintained without the necessity of slaughtering 

innocent animals or roasting their flesh in our -. '- 

clean shining kitchen. Kitchens reflect the *- 

wonders of our scientific age, but hold therein 

the cruelty of the days of barbarism. It seems this 

ultra-scientific age is quite keyed up with regard 

to cleanliness and sanitation which, of course, 

hcis been one of the greatest advancements of 

our age. However, with all the outer cleanliness, 

good sewage, and drainage systems, it is not the 

poor, undernourished vegetarian who is filling 

up the billion dollar hospitals built for the healing 

of the nation's sick. It is instead the cigarette 

smoking, flesh imbibing creature called man who 

has so far deviated from the natural way of life 

that the wonder of it all is how he manages to 

survive till almost forty before contracting serious 

diseases. It seems there is almost no food 

available on the market without first having been 

tampered with in one way or another. Our grains 

are bleached, processed and chemicalized — our 

sugars go through the same type of processing. 

Livestock are fed with an eye to "pound value." 

Almost from the time a child is brought 
into this modern world it is placed on a bottle 
formula. Modern mothers who dare to be 
different and nurse their children are viewed as 
martyrs and old-fashioned. Babies are stuffed on formulas of canned milk combined with water 
containing chloride and other so-called germ destroying, purifying agents. To this is added dextrose 
or canned com syrup, another processed sugar product, refined and preserved. After several 
months white processed bleached cereals are added to the infant's diet — white bread crusts are 
added for teething purposes when a sugar lollypop is unavailable. Then comes the endless parade 
of canned, strained, salted, or sugared fruits and vegetables, custards, puddings, and such other 

prepared "foodstuffs" that make it small wonder that our children grow up with diseased tonsils, 
constipation, bad digestions, colds and other mucous conditions. A child is brought into the world 
with a healthy body and our "scientific nutritionists" with their up-to-the-minute data and 
advertising campaigns so excite the imagination of young parents that only confusion can result. 

The cells of our bodies are dependent upon the condition of our blood streams which are 
their source of food. Processed, bleached, and chemicalized foods all have an acid reaction. In 
order for health to be maintained it is necessary for the body to keep a ratio of 80% alkaline and 
20% acid content. Once this ratio is upset toxemia or poisoning of the blood stream can result. 
Alkaline foods are to be found primarily in the fruits, vegetables, and nuts. White flour, white sugar, 
animal flesh, fish, smoked foods, and spicy foods are all highly acid-forming. Of course, the 
counter argument is always that since the body does need acid foods too, why not take them from 
among this group? Nature has provided us with an abundance of natural acid-forming foods in the 
legume, grain, and dairy family. Why take second rate acids which cause toxic effects while 
supplying the body with acids? It seems that man's instincts and tastes are so perverted that he is 
ever seeking new taste thrills. All sensitivity to the fine and natural flavors of wholesome foods 
seem to be lost. When will man wake up to the fact that his body is composed of the foods he 
places therein? If artificial and high acid foods are the mainstay of his diet he can expect his body 
to rebel. Nature is patient, but it seems she is playing a losing game from the time a child is brought 
into the world to be besieged by all manners of disease caused by nature's never tiring attempts to 
rid the body of the continuous flow of putrefying filth placed therein. 

If we appear a bit explosive it is only because we were requested to write our personal i n 

viewpoint, and through our own experience we have found it possible to save our youth from 
deterioration by introducing a saner, cleaner and far happier life. 

And now here is what we consider the base of a good balanced diet. Whole grains; wheat, 
millet, oats, buckwheat, etc.; legumes - soybeans, limas, lentils, etc.; nuts - any fresh unbleached 
nut directly from the shell. Eggs if desired; fresh milk, certified preferably. Soft unprocessed cheeses 
such as cottage, pot or farmer cheese; steamed or baked fresh vegetables; an abundance of raw, 
fresh, fruits and vegetables. This should comprise 45% of the diet, even more for those who tend 
towards constipation, pudginess, or are troubled with acne conditions. The above symptoms are 
nature's warning that our bodies and blood stream are in need of a house-cleaning. All refined, 
bleached, flavored, chemicalized, and preserved foods are a hindrance to beautiful body functions. 
The diet suggested assures you of sufficient protein to render the slaughter of animals for food 
purposes unnecessary. 

Wholesome food added to the vigorous, outdoor life you have already chosen will assure 
you of a clean, happy life. 

Julius Goldberg 
October 1945 





On the misted hill b\; sparkling run, 

The world is tinted gre\^. 

As nature beckons to the sun, 

The farmer starts his da^;. 

The sun's gold halos distant hills, 

The grey world fades away. 

The wild birds greet with magic trills. 

The renaissance of day. 

Harold Silverman 



said U,c ««- * quarter' 














but it °'^H a i„ 












Chaplain: "My man, I will allow you five minutes of grace before the execution. 
Condemned Man: "Fine, bring her in." 








Joseph Krauskoph Memorial Library Archives 




'orticulture plays a profound and important role in our College program. It embraces not 
only the educational phase but the productional as well. 

Horticulture should be considered as an art and a science. It engulfs the production and 
research of fruit trees, small fruits and vegetables. It is needless to mention the importance of these 
crops in the economy of the U.S. and the entire world. 

We at the College differentiate two terms: Fbmology -- deals with the production of small 
fruits and tree fruits, Olericulture deals with the production of vegetable crops. In the broad sense 
of the word -- Landscaping and floriculture are an integral part of Horticulture. In our own College 
this phase is an independent department. 

For the proper instruction of Fbmology our college maintains 15 acres of peach trees, 25 
acres of apple trees, 3 acres of plums, cherries and pears and 3 acres of small fruits. 

The varieties of fruits are the recommended ones for the Eastern part of the U.S. 

There are approximately 30 different varieties of apples and peaches to enable our students 
not only to recognize them by appearance but to observe their habit of growth and to study their 
nutritional and cultural requirements. 

We should be proud of our orchards that are being constantly improved to meet up-to-date 

The vegetable phase of Horticulture consists of 15 acres. oo 

The crops grown are asparagus, rhubarb, tomatoes, cabbage, lettuce, beans and corn etc. 
These crops are consumed by our own commissary department. 

In order to maintain the field facilities for best educational instruction - we have modern 
machinery consisting of sprayers, tractors, trucks, mowers, discs and various other implements. 

This year we have been fortunate to install a modern cold storage room that will permit us 
to hold our fruits and vegetables for better disposal. 

A modem grader and brusher were acquired to facilitate our grading and sorting of fruits. 

All these facilities will be used in our applied agricultural program and in the various 
Horticultural Laboratory exercises. 

The administration of our College has demonstrated repeatedly its keen interest in the 
advancement of our Horticultural department and through its efforts the department is progressing 

The Cannery is an integral part of the Horticultural Department. The various fruits and 
vegetables canned are consumed by our own kitchen. 

One of our 8-year-old peach orchards is being used in cooperation with the Department of 
Horticulture at Rutgers University, as an experimental orchard. 

The orchard has been divided into 6 blocks consisting of 12 trees per block. Six trees in 
each block have been irrigated and six have not. The main purpose of this research problem is to 
study the effects of irrigation on peach trees in the Eastern part of the U.S. In our research we are 
compiling data on the effects of irrigation on trunk growth, fruit size, color, total yield, date of 
harvest, shoot growth, flower bud formation, and bud hardiness. Many incidental measurements 
are maintained, especially rainfall and temperature. 

Basins were built around the trees and plaster of Fferis Briquettes were buried at three 
different levels representing the three horizons of the soil profile. A special instrument called the 
Bouyoucos Moisture Meter is connected to the leads of the Briquettes to determine the electrical 
conductivity and thus the percentage of available soil moisture. Whenever the soil moisture 
reached a predetermined low level, irrigation was applied to saturate the soil to its field capacity. 

This season we experienced a severe drought during June and July and an abundance of 
moisture in the wake of the hurricanes in August. The experimental orchard has been irrigated 3 

Observations were made and recorded throughout the season on the effects of 
supplemental irrigation on the foliage of the trees. Harvest data is maintained and after completion 
of this season's work, the overall data will be analyzed statistically to determine significant results. 

Field research of this type requires replications to counteract the effects of soil differences, 
pH, location, elevation micro and macro elements and their interactions. 

p^ For best and most accurate results such research should be conducted for several years to 

determine the seasonal variations as well. 

It is too early, at the present time, to make statements as to the results of our work, but it 
looks very promising. 

An attempt has been made to discuss briefly some of the work performed by the 
Horticultural Department at N.A.C. Since all of our students are requested to take the principles of 
Horticulture course they familiarize themselves with the entire Horticultural Department. Our 30 
Horticultural Majors have an excellent opportunity to acquire a scientific and practical education. 
We hope each and every one of our students, regardless of his major interest or ambition in life, 
will take advantage of the opportunities offered at our College to enrich his own knowledge for the 
benefit of himself and mankind. 

Joshua Feldstein 



The snow, the snow, the beautiful snow, 
How lightlx; it falls to the earth below. 
How fast it whirls and twirls in the air. 

Beaming and pla\;ing like n^aidens fair 

The snow, the snow, the glistening snow. 
See how it dances as the wild winds blow, 

Falling upon the earth cold and bare, 
And sparkling like so mani) diamonds rare. 

The snow, the snow, the soft starry snow, 

How fastly it covers the earth below. 

Methinks as it falls on lea and street. 

It makes swelling music, yes. music so sweet. 

E. Lee '04 


--^ M, 

,{*' ■ y^ 



hre as a 


(_V /Agriculture as a way of life," is usually practiced on a family farm. 

What is a family farm? 

"The family-type farm might generally be considered a farming operation 
in which managerial decisions are made by the farmer and most of the physical 
work in the production of the farm enterprise is done by the members of the 
farm family." 

As one of six children from a family farm, let me try to explain why I like 
"Agriculture as a Way of Life." 

As a young boy I can remember going up on the hillside on a warm 
September day and, ensconced on a clump of Honeysuckle, watching the wind 
move lazily through our field of newly-shocked corn. Looking down dreamily on 
the fields you helped to plant and harvest, you gain a certain love and respect 
for the soil, and for Him above, that makes that soil possible. 

Then you glance over at the barn, and think of that 4-H calf you've 
worked on continuously for the last two months. And that yearling ewe that's 
been your pride ever since she won first prize last year at the County Fair ~ this 
winter she'll give birth to her first lamb. I can just see myself going out every 
night 'till midnight and checking on her there. Then that final night arrives 
when you find the newly-born lamb lying in the corner beside a nervous but 
proud mother. You help the mother dry the lamb, which is wet and steaming 
from the cold air. Then, you make sure the lamb gets warm milk from its 
mother, and when it's "O.K." you sit and smile at it, with a sense of pride and 
happiness, as it gains a precarious foot-hold in this new and frightening world. 

Let's leave the barn and take a look at the house. Here comes Dad out 
the door to do the evening chores. He never carries a lunch pail, never punches 
a time clock, and never works a certain shift. And then there's Mom; she's 
always home to cook those three square meals a day, with a glass of milk and a 
piece of fresh apple pie, baked this afternoon. 

To me farm life is the only life. I think farm life teaches you to accept a 
challenge, to counteract defeat, and to try your best in everything you do. to 
leave my feeling about farming with you, 1 will quote a phrase from George 
Elliot: "No human being can live a wholesome life unless he be rooted to some 
particular spot of soil." 

David L. Kanter '60 

(^o/r^m/mu <m a ^/wau o/^^i^ 

eyeing city bred I find it hard to pin down the exact reasons for my choice of farming 
as an eventual way of life for me upon graduation from this institution. Two years ago I 
turned my back on my place of birth, the city, and entered what I term "a new world." This 
new environment had many a trying time in store for me till I became properly adjusted. 
Getting acquainted with the meaning of "backpower" and with some of the grueling tasks 
was quite a pill to swallow, a complete reversal of the picture of farming I had painted in my 
mind (in the city). Yet. in spite of this, and of such frustrations as being gently kicked into 
the gutter (a ditch running posterior to bossy into which she excretes) by a contrary cow in 
response to my inexpert milking operation. I found myself getting to desire this new life. 

"Why do I choose farm life?" I asked myself, and many other times subsequently. In 
fact 1 stiU get around to that point every morning while staggering sleepily into the cold 
dawn, on my way to the dairy barn at my place of employment. Why is farm living so 
appealing'?' First, I picture Brooklyn. New York, which is my home town. I see row upon row 
of stereotyped architecture extending as far as eye can see. countless automobiles belching 
"■pleasant" smells of carbon monoxide, which, combined with essences of factories, garbage 
incinerators, and next door neighbors, prove "stimulating."' I see rows of garbage cans — 
here a tail poking out signifying the presence of Mr. or Mrs. Alley-Cat, skilled scavenger, and 
midnight yowler. 

On the other hand, there is much that is pleasing in farm living. Partly, the touch of 
Mother Nature is responsible. Being used to the constant cacophony of the city, 1 did not 
take things for granted. I shall never forget the exhilaration that swept over me as I heard, 
for the first time, the symphony of a summer evening, and viewed the rising and setting of 
the sun over a misty pasture. Nor shall I forget the first "calving" at which I was present. 

Aside from the aesthetic appeal of the surroundings, 1 found farm living a satisfying 
experience - being able to see my actual accomplishments at the end of the day and 
"looking forward" with anticipation to the next day, something 1 did not do on a city job. 

I have never seen life better enjoyed than by the members of a farm family, running 
an efficient farmstead. Everyone has a place and a job, and is made to feel important in his 
or her task, no matter how simple. This, coupled with the constant presence of all members 
of the farm enterprise and their working together, produces responsible future Americans. 

Naturally these feelings have been produced in me by my experiences as a mere 
farm hand. There is quite a difference between the point of view of a farm laborer and farm 
owner. Responsibilities and worries constantly plague the farmer. This makes me wonder 
how well I would fare "on the other side of the fence." 

DaueBogaish; '60 

^9^ u6o<i6^o/iAe (^o<>t6<jdl ^7\)i/ria 

Behold, the football king am I. 

With crown of welted leather. 

And ear pads fastened at the sides, 

To keep my head together; 
For in the game that's nip and tuck, 

I don't take an]; chances. 

But have m\; thinking cap well armed 

Against the foe's advances. 

Experience has taught that when 

One pla\;s with lads quite heart;, 

he don't receive the same care that 

he would at a tea part;; 

So that is why I wear a suit 

Bedecked with pads and buckles; 

Besides-if foemen rub it in 

I cannot feel their knuckles. 

My shoes are set with cleats of steel, 

I never slip while running. 

And when I tramp on some foe's toe, 

he has a kick a-coming; 

But only then -for as a rule 

I keep the best of order, 

no That no opponent has the nerve 

To kick across my border 

My throne is but the soaring goal, 

From which the foe endeavor 

To oust me-but my courtiers prove 

A trusty ten, too clever; 

For each one is a fortress that 

Withstands the worst attacking, 

And none can penetrate our lines 

Without the best of backing. 

My court is but the gridiron brown. 

Where pigskin warriors grapple; 

The course once chalked in savory white 

Has since turned gray thro' battle; 

For when my lads charge the defense. 

It's gain in ev 'ry sortie. 

They always aim to boost the score 

Until it's ten and forty. 

Then raise a lusty yell, my braves, 

A shout of true elation; 

Hip! Hip! Hurrah! A tiger bold, 

You've cause for jubilation; 

Not on account of conquests won. 

In fair or murky weather. 

But 'cause you have a football king 

With crown of welted leather 

E.I. Lee '04 


^Ae (BMoJ/Lun am^ ©^ Uuo/r/e/rwie/}^ 


ice in the old Seaside Bar, eiround three in the morning, an old man came hobbling 
through the doors out of the rain. The room was lit by only a few dim lamps, and most of the usual 
patrons had already left. A few old retired seamen passed the old man as they left. The bartender 
stood talking to a friend, a cargo pilot, as the old man stood quietly at the other end of the bar. The 
bartender asked the old man what he was drinldng; the old man pointed to a bottle of Scotch but 
said nothing. The bottle was brought with a glass; however when he tried to start a conversation 
the old man said nothing, just stood silently, hunched over, his hat pulled low. The bartender left 
him alone. He went back and poured the pilot another shot, took his money and , as usually 
happens late at night, the money found its way into his pocket. The pilot drank his shot and left. 
The bartender again tried to start a conversation with the old man but got nowhere. The old man 
just hung his head lower. The bartender looked at the old man closely and realized that the old 
man's face and hands were covered with deep, long scars. A further examination revealed that the 
old man must have been in a terrible accident because his whole body looked deformed, and he 
remembered that the old man dragged one leg. The bartender then asked to see the color of his 
money before he drank anymore. The old man slowly and laboriously pulled out a leather pouch 
and from it produced several gems of gigantic size. He selected the smallest, placed it on the bar, 
picked up the bottle and glass and walked to a table in the rear of the bar. The bartender looked at 
the large gem and followed the old man to the table hoping to find out where the gems came from. 
The old man said nothing! After a few more drinks he got up without a word and left. The 
bartender placed the gem in his pocket, locked the bar quickly and followed the old man. His 
quarry slowly made his way through the rain. The bartender followed at a distance thinking of the 
horrible scars and the broken body. He felt the gem again in his pocket. The old man turned into 
an alley and let himself into an apartment at the far end of the alley. The bartender followed and 
looked in the window. He watched as the old man put his bag of gems under the pillow and got 
ready for bed. The next night the bartender didn't go to work, but instead waited outside the old 
man's apartment until he left. The bartender figured the old man must have some of the jewels 
hidden in the apartment somewhere, so he entered. After he had searched the whole apartment 
and found nothing he decided he would have to wait until the old man returned, kill him, and 
secure the gems that way. Later, he heard the old man coming. He could hear the foot dragging 
and felt a chill run down his spine as he thought once again of the scarred body. The door opened 
slowly, the bartender struck hard and the old man fell. He was dead! Quickly, he searched him but 
found nothing but the empty leather bag and an old piece of paper. The moon shone on the old 
man and a tear in the shirt revealed more deep scars. Seeing these the bartender became 
frightened and fled. Once back in his own apartment he reached into his pocket to get out the gem 
and found the piece of paper he had found on the old man and had stuffed in his pocket as he 
fled. After close observation, he realized it was a map of a small island with an "X" marking a spot 
in the middle of a small mountainous area. The bartender figured this must be where the old man 
had gotten his gems. 

The next day the bartender talked his pilot friend into dropping him off on the island. The 
bartender's plan was to parachute to the place where the "X" was marked and he would meet his 
friend on the beach later where the plane could be landed. They found a level spot in the 
mountain large enough to drop in a parachute and the bartender jumped. The pilot headed for the 
beach to land and wait. The wind blew the parachute off course. The bartender thought he would 
be killed among the rocks but was surprised when he landed in what seemed to be a large net. As 
he looked around he saw that everything he could see was greatly oversized. When he looked 
down through the net he saw a cave that was filled with large gems of all kinds. He had come to 
the right place he thought, but as he tried to get to them he realized he couldn't get free. The more 
he struggled the more entangled he seemed to get. As he struggled he noticed something moving 
in the shadow of two great rocks. As it moved toward him he saw that it seemed to be a monstrous 
insect and had long claws. He suddenly realized that he hadn't fallen into a net but a web. He 
looked at the large gems and then remembered the scars on the old man. The great spider moved 
closer, he screamed hysterically. 

Donald R. Haun 

Qj4> ^9^e6Jmwm'6^ <^- 



t was on the eve, two weeks before Christmas, that I sat in my room pondering over my 
studies. The window of my room presented many pictures, which were formed by the frost and 

The cold northern wind with a melancholy sound beat against the sides of the building, and 
with the low twinkling light from the gas jet filled my mind with indefinite, lonesome thoughts. 

Holding a book in my hands, 1 tried my best to keep on with my work, but it was in vain! 
My mind, it seemed, could not concentrate on the dry words which were before my eyes. I listened 
attentively to the wind which brought with it memories of my home, parents, and of the few happy 
days 1 spent there in my childhood. This same wind had been my companion, when I roamed 
among the hills playing with my "chums." 

Many other happy thoughts filled my mind; and 1 began to think about the Christmas 
vacation which was only two weeks off. 

"Two more weeks till Christmas, then 1 will be able to start for my home and glance once 
more at the dear old place. Two more weeks-two long weeks,'" 1 repeated over and over again, 
and still could not reach any conclusion. 

Br-r-r-r-r-r-r sounded the wind with more force, and suddenly blew out my light. 
go My heart was full with fear, and hurrying, I lit it again. Once more 1 took the book up in my 

hands, and lying down on my bed tried to study. 

"Cohesion is the force which holds molecules together," 1 repeated for the fifth time, without 
having the least conception of what I read. Soon again 1 was calculating the days, hours and 
minutes remaining till Christmas. 

It was Christmas eve. 1 was joyful; for 1 found myself in my dear old home, sitting around 
the fireside, laughing and telling stories. 

The sleigh bells could be heard chiming with all their glee. Every now and them crowds of 
youngsters would pass, cheering and singing. 

At last the san-man made his appearance, and hanging our stockings above the fireside, we 
went to bed. But 1 could not sleep. Thoughts of the presents in store for me from dear old Santa 
Claus, kept my mind swaying as 1 lay in bed. 

Ten-eleven-twelve-struck the old clock on the church, and finally I heard a noise. It was 
Santa Claus coming down the chimney. He filled our stockings with presents and then left the 

I quickly jumped out of bed and ran towards the fireside. But as I stretched my hand 
forward to grasp my stocking, 1 awoke from the raps on the door of my cubical; hearing the office 
boy saying, "Get up, it's time for details." 

Morris B\achr\an, '10. 
Published Jan uary 1907 



Though pierced her holy flesh be, 
Those unhoHest of holes car)r)ot 
Bleed the beaufy that fills 
Her louel]; countenance. 
As if a new orifice could 
Somehow new attention bring, 
When that which is seen 
Emanates from her radiance. 
Not from a false pagan ritual. 
Her self portrait need not be 
Of accoutrement concealing 
Hidden uncertain^;. 
However her need to pierce 
States m\; desire to know 
Where else has the artist's brush 
Stroked her ethereal form. 









f^.m^^-^ ■^^- 

She doesn't dance 

She doesn 't sing. 

And goofs in pants 

Don't mean a thing. 

She doesn 't swear, 

She never flirts, 

She doesn 't wear 

Those shortened skirts. 

She doesn't like 
A shad]^ joke; 
She doesn't hike, 
She doesn 't smoke. 
She doesn 't use 
Those beauty; salves 
But won't refuse 
To show her calves. 
She's the kind 
That knows her chow. 
She's not a girl. 
Just a cow. 

Philip Pollachek 
June 1928 


©^ ^-.eodeleM ^/\y<mde>r€^ 


here are a few of us just born that way. Always wanting to go somewhere, never taking the 
same road back. Restless, like the wayward wind, never tarrying long in one place. 

The kid was that way. As a boy, and probably like all boys born in the coalfields of 
Pennsylvania, he dreamed of being a cowboy, sitting astride the biggest and fastest horse in the 
west, with a "Colt 45" hanging low on his hip; or, a jet pilot, speeding faster than sound, half- lost in 
the never-ending sea of space. 


It was hard to do any more than dream about such things in the coalfields, but there were 
valleys and hills and wooded mountains to roam, and always, always the river with the Indian 
name, called the most beautiful in the English language, Susquehanna. 

He had a never-ending love of guns. When he was five he received an air rifle as a gift. He never 
knew what kind it was but he never forgot its shining barrel and the way it felt in his hand. Other 
guns followed the air rifle. A .22 at seven, a 16 gauge shotgun a few years later, a high-powered 30 
caliber rifle and several others before he finished high school. It felt odd to leave them behind 
when he left for the Army. He was eighteen then, still a kid with a yen for adventure. 

Joseph ICrauskoph Memorial Library Archives 

If he wanted changes, Kentucky had 
them: unbelievable cold in the winter, nothing 
but mud and the thick, heavy smell of burning 
soft coal in the spring. There were long 
marches with a pack, half his own weight, 
strapped to his back; and the Saturday nights 
in Louisville and weekends in Columbus. 
Anxious days were spent on the firing range 
with a semi-automatic Ml , serial number 
6339184. Its stock weighed as much as a 
Christmas turkey, and half the grooves were 
missing from the barrel. It was cruel looking, 
ugly as sin, and just as deadly. At 300 yards 
the first shot knocked down the target; it never 
threw a wild shot in the months he used it. 

Colorado was even stranger. Majestic 
mountains rose to frightening heights, with 
white caps and long green sl^rts of pine and 
fir and deep canyons with a suggestion of the 
unknown in them. 

a^/ • g^ 

He had a short stay in California. As he left, surrounded by the unfamiliar noise of the troop 
transport plane, he thought of all the places he had seen; he smiled and was happy. He did not 
know where he was going now, it did not matter, just to be moving was enough. 

He had not realized there was so much water in the Pacific. It took eight hours to cross. 
Eight hours braced against the roll and pitch of the giant aircraft, while the propellers chewed 
endlessly at the invisible mixture of gasses called air 

Japan was as he expected. Odd shaped, tiled roofs perched on white-walled sturdy looking 
houses, while the people spoke a strange sounding language, different from the French and Latin 
of his high school years. 

Soon they crossed the Sea of Japan. He did not like Korea much; Japan was better. He 
often went through a chow line several times to give the extra servings to kids who hung around 
despite the snow and wind and their ragged shoes. 

Days passed, months. He saw a lot of new country, but he didn't appreciate it. He just 
studied it - for slope, cover, and movement. When not studying the terrain, his eyes turned 
upwards to watch for stray fighter planes. The sky was pale gray, so pale it was almost colorless. It 
reminded him of the sky he had seen over the Susquehanna on an early morning duck hunt many 
years before. /iq 

Deer season in Pennsylvania. A letter said his father wasn't hunting, and wouldn't until he 
was there to go along. He was thinking of that when the bugles sounded again and the quilted 
hordes came over the ridge, their rifles blinking, tufts of dirty snow lifting upwards all around him. 

He felt no pain, but the force of the bullet drove him back against the wall of the trench. 

He would wonder far again. Further than his fondest dreams, to those unknown places 
where no one travels until he has bidden farewell to mother earth forever. 

Richard Koes '66 

I remember when life was simple. It was a time when my 
whole world was a city block. The world's troubles were 
none of my own. 1 cared not for riches, only marbles. 1 
loved my Mother and Dad. I loved the world and 
everything in it. 1 was seven. Now I'm twenty and full of 
hate. Why? 1 lost my marbles! 

John D. Martin 70 


A shot rang out. The bullet, that shining metallic 

destiny, had met its mark. 1 had always tried to do my 

best for my country, my best to stop the hating and 

killing. But 1 failed, and the hating snuffed me out 

like a cigarette butt. 




John D.Martin '70 

The children sat with their eyes glued to the image that 
faced them. They had been sitting there all of their lives. 
They felt sure that they now knew all about the world 
around them, for the box had told them everything. The 
voices and faces inside the box talked to them as they 
sat, all eyes riveted to it. One day the box said, "Kill all 
of those who oppress you!" And they did. Then only the 
box remained. 

John D.Martin '70 

The Venus Fly Trap grows and waits 

For an unwary meal to come its way. 

Its bright leaves, like two dinner plates, 

In a flash, snap shut on its prey. 

Then, still again for another day. 

JohnD. Martin '70 



A poem should be: 

obvious and mute, 

as a globed fruit. 


as a flight of birds 

equal to, not true 

For all the history of grief 

an empty doorway and leaf 

For love 

the leaning grass 

two light above the sea 

a poem should be. 

Bud Hofstetter 

^^ Od C2^& ^mm>? 


How does a man know 
She's the girl who is right? 
What dues will show, 
Will he know at first sight? 

What feeling has he inside, 

Can he tell her bi) one kiss, 

Does his heart want to burst with pride 

Apart, is it she who he'll miss? 

Can a man know, really for sure, 
That he's found the one girl for his place? 
Oh, how can he tell, is there a door, 
Or is he just looking for lace? 

Is that first date the one, 
Will they be all the same? 
Will he know she has come? 
Will he know by her name? 

What flicks through his mind 
At the end of the date? 
What answer will he find? 
Will there be a debate? 

Is he on cloud nine? 
Does he wish it would end. 
Or does he dream of the time 
He might see her again? 

The questions are numbered. 
Answers turn each way. 
Soon he'll ask why he wondered 
And his words will say . . . 


Richard Loveless '70 

Joseph Kjauskoph Memorial Library .^chives 

c5^ ^mxil 

It's Sat AM in AUman Hall 
and Aggies sit for their exam final 
In History and Parasitologx;; 
But it could just as easili/ be 
Poll/ Sci or Sociolog]^. 

Watch these Aggies as they write, 
Concentrating with all their might, 
Trying to capture words on a page 
'Ere they're a moment's thought of age. 

Of all these students I help proctor 
A few know me as "Doctor". 
O'er forty students here I know 
On whom this college will bestow 

A degree for courses 

Which they've had on hogs or horses 

Cows or bees, bio or cheese ^' 

Bus Ad, agronomy, chem or trees. 

A few seem so well relaxed 
You'd think they never had the axe 
Fall on their pates 
From birth to date. 

Still others struggle to get their best 

In that exam book for the test 

Which holds them in such wrapt attention 

That they writhe, oblivious to all distraction. 

Thd they write no Congressional Record, 
Their pens and pencils push with one accord. 

Guess I envied their composin, ' 
And to keep myself from dozin', 
Grabbed my pen to write 
And share a modicum of their plight. 

Dr. Richard C. Ziemer 


I wish to express mi/ appreciation to m\^ 
father, John Scott, for his invaluable assistance in 
preparing this article. He willingli^ took time out of 
his full day to take all of the pictures presented in 
conjunction with this article. 

M\,! father and I have a thirU; cow, registered 
Holstein herd averaging 13,996 pounds of milk, 
and 481 pounds ofbutterfat. Our farm is located 
one mile east of Bloomsbur\^, New Jersey^. 

The cow in the article is a Star Man 
daughter, and her calf is a Gent daughter 

f^iim^^r zMf 

he miracle of birth is one of nature's 
wonders which few people have witnessed. Some 
people look upon the phenomenon of birth with 
distaste. However, 1 feel that birth is a special 
moment seldom seen and more often 
misunderstood. I hope that this article can 
enlighten many, and con convey my feeling about 
this special moment to others. 

On our farm, as on others, the birth of a calf 
is a moment of joy and thanksgiving. 

In the dairy industry, adult cows are 
managed so that they are pregnant most of their 
lives . A period of nine months gestation is required 
for the development of the calf within the cow. 

Upon termination of the gestation period, 
the mother will sense that the time for delivery is 
close at hand. If the cow is in housing she will 


become nervous and begin to shift back and forth. 
If she is outside she will instinctively leave the herd 
and find a secluded area in which to give birth to 
her calf. 

Just preceding birth, the calf falls into 
position for delivery within the cow's uterus. After 
the calf has become positioned, the muscles 
around the uterus begin to contract, causing the 
membrane around the fetus to rupture, and the 
fluid in which the calf is suspended to be released. 
Muscle contractions around the uterus and in the 
birth canal force the calf to be expelled. These 
muscle contractions occur at short intervals and the 
front legs of the calf begin to appear from the vulva 
at the end of the birth canal. Within minutes the 
calf's head appears, followed by its shoulders. After 
the calf's shoulders have passed through the vulva, 
the calf's entire body slips free from the cow 
rapidly. Due to this rapid movement, the placenta 
is severed, and the moments of birth have passed. 

The cow and the calf rest for several 
moments due to the great stress both have 
endured. The first signs of life can be seen when 
the calf begins to shake its head and cough up the 
fluid in its respiratory tract. The mother arises and 
licks the fluid from the calf's body. Her coarse 
tongue stimulates the calf's circulation. 

Within an hour the calf stands, takes its first 
steps, and begins to nurse. 

A Robert Scott 70 


&le ^oud/a (^eU 

Look ahead, the course is not predestined. 

The struggle should capture a heart and a light soul. 

Queer thoughts, perversion, look at the senseless people. 

50 Estranged persons continue molesting the societi;! 

When time needs you, keep your heads in your unconverted shells. 

Humans, look to remove ill criticism 

Rebel with true intentions: 

If life is too spectacular for you, then die. 

Actually you're already dead. 

Steven Schwartz '71 



\S>ft was an ordinary but incredible winter night, typical of all nature. The sun had not long 

ago slipped under the horizon, not to sleep, but to start a new day for another patch of earth. One 

last ray exerted all its remaining energy to pull the moon around, temporarily replacing the fire 

opal. The brilliance of the moon, a diamond, gave the entire peacock blue sky a shining glaze. Not 

alone for long, the diamond was soon joined by a random splash of tiny rhinestones of stars, 

which continued to increase as the sky darkened. The jewels, no longer illuminating the whole sky, 

shone their individual radiance against the black velvet cloth. Through a window, the moon's light 

was reflected in a cross shape, as if in tribute to its creator. Man, built with the greatest mind of all 

creatures on earth, learns some of the mechanics of nature, and boasts intelligence, yet still he 

leaves many of nature's wonders unexplained. Try though he can and ponder as he might, his 

finite mind can not explain infinity; theory after theory discounted, and estimate after estimate 

enlarged, yet nature remains, to baffle each succeeding generation of "intelligent" creatures. 

Janet L. Kruckow 

/ like to pick them asparagi shoots 

I hunt 'em in the morning 

Wear m\^ harvesting boots 

They're growing so I pick 'em 

Our relationship is root 

I love to pick them Asparagi shoots 

I love to cook them Asparagi stalks 

I take em home and steam 'em 

Right on top a my wok 

There's tender, big - 1 seen em 

I snag 'em when I walk 

How I love to cook them Asparagi stalks 

Don't believe it if ever I said 

That I won't eat the wild ones 

Go to the supermarket instead 

But I pick and eat 'em when I'm walking 

Guess that makes me a head 

And I'll eat that wild Asparagrass right up 

'till I'm dead 

Karl Bachmati 



Here's to a life 

of an old mountain nnan 

with whom you would have loved to have been 

friends with... 

and who [;ou would think had nothing 

but yet he had all he needed. 

For when he woke in the morning 

he would put on his old dilapidated boots, 

tie his decrepit laces, 

and open the creeking door... 

The sun's rays would burst into his eyes 

and he could feel the leaves drop on his shoulders 

He swore to himself that just yesterday 

these leaves were filled with colours and life... 

And his legs moved and his feet crushed 

the dark-green grass 

he headed toward those beautiful and 

peaceful, but yet ominous looking mountains, 55 

for he had fallen in love with their 

upward striving form... 

He had a strangely sudden feeling 

that he needed to be in union with them 

This wonderful old man felt a burst of joy 

and his mind felt mellow... 

And he lay on the soft ground 
not being able to climb those mountains 
as he had done almost every morning 
and every day in a life. 
His body slept on the ground 
in a leaf-like manner 
seeping with coolness... 
And his soul was taken lightly 
upward striving 
with the mountains... 

Ann Drobner 

I Believe in life and growth and the joys which are to be derived from a healthy body and 
the zest of an active mind. Fresh, clean air, a variety of work, and association with the basic 
elements of nature all have their appeal. 

/ Believe that any worthwhile farmer must be able to think and study without guidance 
from other. He must be a thinker-not a mere imitator. Farming of the future will be a joy to those 
who participate only because it will be a matter of intellect rather than brawn. 

/ Believe that it is essential that I have a sufficient knowledge of nature to understand the 
main processes of life, both animal and vegetable, as well as the foundation upon which human 
life and happiness depend. The common plants of the field are not common if we know how to call 
them by name, understand how they seed and grow. Insects are not just bugs if we know their 
classifications and life cycles. Soils are not just dirt if we know their composite elements. The farm 
and the field afford the world's greatest laboratory for quiet unhurried study and constructive 

To Be successful, I would be trained to use the tools of Human relations with precision and 
30 accuracy. I must know language, both written and spoken, and know the use of numbers. The 

farmer of today is more and more acquiring the right to sit around the council table and solve his 
own problems and fight for his own rights. 

/ Believe that is essential for me to know enough of history to understand the main 
achievements of man. It will guide me in my movements, give broader conception of life and more 
complete understanding of world affairs. 

/ Believe that every farmer must have not only a general knowledge of his vocation, but 
training for some particular branch of it. This is an age of specialization and the farmer, as well as 
any man, must learn to specialize. 

To Be able to get the most enjoyment from life, I believe that it is essential that I know 
nature. Literature, music, and other arts sufficiently to choose superior form inferior enjoyment. We 
must come to realize that there is a distinction between mere idleness and leisure, and cease to 
criticize constructive use of leisure time. 

My Habits should be those which are called ethical. I should know the full meaning of the 
words honesty, good will, helpfulness, and co-operation. In co-operation I will find the satisfactory 
solution to many of my problems. 

George M. Straj^er 


Joseph tvrauskoph Memonal Library Archives 


Joseph Krauskoph Memorial Library Archives 


Friends. More thar\ Frier^ds. Frier\ds. 
More than friends. Friends. 

We've swa[^ed back and forth 
South, north. South, north. 

One course lasted all of nine hours 
For when we're near, we have to touch 

The time came when it was touch no more 
Wrench mx^selffrom \;our hold so strong 

Been a da\^ since I've known, five since I've kissed \;ou 
You know i^our love for me, but not for him 

Wrestle with your confusing thoughts and feelings 
Onli) been a da\,! but, God I've missed i)ou 

I pla\,;ed guitar tonight and cried when I sang 

bout a dream is a wish i!Our heart makes 59 

I tri> not to listen to mx; heart's dreaming 
But its real hard to forget about \,!ou 

Long to touch mi,; finger to \;our lips 
Brush back \,)our hair and kiss your nose 

Give you long strong hugs right from my heart 
And kiss you again and again 

But for now I'm quite alone 
Not a bad place to be 

But having tasted your love 
I know where I could be 

Remind me we're friends 
Not more, just friends 

Can we be just friends? 
Just friends? Just friends. 

Jeff Crooke 


Blue as the sky 
are your cr\;sta} Eyes 

Fields of Gold 

is the crown you hold 

I rest my head to find my eyes, 

which you have stold. 

Stephanie Ruth Smith 





Lie back and rest for the night 

Let your head sink into the damp earth 

and allow the blades of wauery 

rise up around you- 

Close your eyes and see 

Now open them 

and welcome yourself to 


Stephanie Ruth Smith 

^A'mmmA m^ --oy^ o^^anAJi^ 

Cancer man inveigles. 

Fox confused 

Wants to believe 

His sister's abduction 

In his dreams 

Alien inspired 

Further obfuscates 

His judgment 


Empirical thought, 

He rationalizes 

To persevere 

62 In his pursuit. 

Foul or fiction 

I, Watson 

He. Holmes, 

More practical 

Than whimsx;, 

M[^ si;mpath\; 

Widens with 

Each new foray. 

I, thought a 

Skeptic of illusion 

Wish to diminish 

His pain b\; 
Seeking the truth 
Wherever it exist. 

Steue Sharpe 

Things {^ou wanna sa\^ 

But just don't come out right. 

Places you wanna go 

But are just out of sight. 

You long for an object to help you along 

like you need the words to finish a song. 

You search around to find the hand, 

the mind of wisdom below the sand. 

It creeps up behind you and guides you 

along. You look up above and feel as if 

you belong. It's your faithful friend, 

the one who never let you down. He's 

the caring keeper who'd never let you 

frown. He's the one who's near and all around. 

It's God who's here not even making a sound. 

Erin Goldschrnidt 


©^ ^u%fAoe 


he clay statue lay shattered on the tile floor. It had been knocked off its pedestal by people 
too careless to apologize or pay for the damage they caused. They had left as quickly as they 
could, crushing some of the pieces under their heels. A true lover of art knelt by the clay fragments, 
tears glistening in his eyes. 

He gathered the pieces and took them to a small table in the back room. He spread them 
out before him and tried to sort them. The sculptor noticed the man and came to investigate. 
"What happened?" the sculptor asked. "A careless shopper," was the reply, in a voice echoing the 
glistening tears. "Did they pay?" "No." "Damn them, wasting my time." His tone made it clear that it 
was the lost money, not lost art, that he mourned. 

The sculptor returned to his work, leaving the lover of art alone with the shattered statue. 
The man began trying to put the pieces back together. He glued them when he was certain they fit. 
It took shape again. It was a young girl, pretty and seemingly innocent. 

Her face was the most damaged. Her mouth and nose were almost completely destroyed 
and there were many chips missing. Strangely her eyes were still intact. The man considered them 
again. A few tears rolled down his cheeks. Her eyes, although only made of clay, were filled with 
pain, sadness, and confusion. 

When the glue dried, he wrapped her safely in a soft cloth and took her home with him. He 
set her, damaged as she was, upon a small table in his living room. The expressive eyes were, to 
him and later others, of enough power and beauty to speak from her otherwise ravaged face. 

Rebecca Walter 


Joseph Kxauskoph Memorial Library Archives 



Joseph Krauskoph Memorial Library Archives 


)er, dark, angry eyes flashed out from underneath her old baseball cap for just one second. 
Then she turned away and bolted from the room. That was the last time I ever saw her. Hers was 
an incredible story. 1 loved her, once, the way that she loved me. If only her pride and temper 
didn't get in the way. She was beautiful and strong. No— she somehow had enough strength to 
make other people strong. But not enough to shield herself from the bitter irony of her very 
existence. She could have had anything she had wanted. Her parents spoiled her rotten. It's just 
too bad they never got to know their daughter. 

She could love a person with all her heart, but hate herself. She would do anything for you, 
but you couldn't do anything for her. She can't understand why anyone could care for her. She 
gave all she had for others, but would not take anything in return. She told me once that she 
thought she was ugly-both inside and out. When I told her that she had the most beautiful soul that 
ever was, she laughed that bitter, cynical laugh of hers and just walked away. 

Yes, that was my beautiful Devashan. Her name meant dream of the gods. She once told 
me she must have been the nightmare of devils. How she could hurt herself over and over I do not 
y^ know. I wish I could have helped her but by that point I think it was just too late. 

They found her by a river lying naked on the wet fall leaves. Her dark eyes were staring 
angrily at the dusl^ sky-as if to say Why. Or maybe they were saying Thank you. 


l\ * 

' < -IF^-J 


^^(jUA 11/04^ C/6acA ©W/^W^ 

/n other words 

Your diumify is with me 

But the pair} that i>ou send 

Gives me something to feel 

A thousand promises 

Once traced softly; down i;our neck 

Bleed through words 

Our secret forever kept 

And from the darkness 

Feeling flows 

I fall to pieces 

Holding K;our ghost 

I fall to pieces 

Dreams of\;our embrace 

Flow like wine 

Lost in i^our eyes 

I hang my head 

Peter Sn\;der 


he sun is warm, the clouds are full, the 
grass is tall, But look around nature has no wall. 
Everything open. Everything free. Animals, trees, 
flowers, and music... Music of our everyday lives 

floating by like the fish in the sea. The moon 73 

beams high as the stars shoot by. The breeze 
picks up and out spills the tye-dye. Together we 
were created as one, forever we will be as one. 
Through drizzle upon your neighbor, climb up 
the hills and watch the sun go down slow, 


Erin Goldschmidt 


©^ ^S^me9u/ 

A person who enhances \^our life, 

Knowing your accord and i;our strife. 
Respecting both for the individual they compose, 

Always watchful for threats of foes. 

The sibling not born of your clan. 

But knows you like the back of a hand. „_ 

Someone who knows your thoughts before they happen, 

A relationship that most cannot even imagine. 
No sea or continent can keep you apart, 

Refuse the distance and look straight to your heart. 
There you will find the person you seek. 

That voice will remind you things are not so bleak. 
Through joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain, 

The friend is one who will always remain. 

Robert Frank 


The Gleaner staff 

dedicates this Centennial issue 

to Dr. Joshua Feldstein, 

President of Delaware Valley College. 




In memori; of 

Arthur Foley, 

Chairman of the Board of Trustees. 


IS I sat up in the sand, I whispered, "Gosh it's beautiful." I was referring to the rainbow 
cascading from the heavens. A rainbow is nothing out of the ordinary on a Spring afternoon in 
Kauai. But today its magnificence caught my eye. 

Aunt Lisa beckoned, "Please tell me all about it." 

"Well," I started, "the shape feels like an elbow macaroni swishing around in your mouth. 
The clouds look light and fluffy. I would say they resemble the feeling of whip cream." 

"What is whip cream?" Aunt Lisa asked. 

"Pure white," I responded. "It is simple, smooth, and pure. The rainbow contains many 
colors," I told her. "Today it mainly has red, yellow, purple, blue, green, and orange." 

"That certainly is a lot of colors," she replied. 

"The red reminds me of the sweet taste and smell of cinnamon," I stated. As I looked over 
at Aunt Lisa, I saw her breathe in very deeply. It appeared as if she was trying to catch the smell of 
the cinnamon. 

"Please go on," she whispered 



"In the rainbow, the color yellow makes me feel the tingling on my arms that I usually feel 
when I am laying out in the sunshine," I reminded her. "The purple," 1 began," makes me feel like 
1 am caressing a piece of silk. It sort of feels cold, smooth, and very soft." 

"1 can feel it," Aunt Lisa responded. Carefully, she glided her two fingers over each other. 

"The blue," 1 began, "feels cold. The best thing I can tell you is it feels like an ice cube 
gliding down your throat." Aunt Lisa smiled as she accepted the description. "Green is hard to 
describe," 1 said. "Imagine it as the morning mist brushing against my face in early spring." 

"It sounds like a deep and powerful color," she responded. 

"It definitely is," I explained. "Green plays a tremendous part in nature. The final color is 
orange," 1 reminded her. "Orange is the sound of leaves crunching as the children play in them." 

As I looked over at Aunt Lisa, I saw her looking up at the sky for answers. Even though she 
could not see the magnificence of the rainbow, 1 know she could see a picture in her mind. 

Marie Zmijewski 

Wf^ WtM c^ 


VxT vita terra. 

Determined are we to succeed 
And science with practice our creed. 

We reflect upon a century; 
At the founding of this school, 
Bearing out a Rabbi's vision 
With our insight as our tool. 

Yesterday the vision surfaced; 
Through the years it waxed and grew; 
And today we re-affirm it 
As it matures with efforts anew. 


Yesterday was the birth; 

Through the years its worth 

Was born out with some effort and pain. 

We reflect on a cent'ry of gain. 

Vir vita terra. 

Joseph Kjauskoph Memona] Library Archives 

Dr. Richard C. Ziemer 



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